


Various XMFC Ficlets 2: November Boogaloo

by pocky_slash



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Ficlet Collection, Intoxication, Kissing, M/M, Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-05
Updated: 2012-11-06
Packaged: 2017-11-18 00:48:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/pseuds/pocky_slash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unconnected series of ficlets based on prompts during the month of November. There won't be one every day, but this is where the ones that aren't part of larger projects/verses will live.</p><p><b>Chapter One:</b> Political AU - Charles asks Erik for a kiss; Erik has a decision to make.<br/><b>Chapter Two:</b> Modern, non-powered AU - It's been a long day and Charles wants a drink; Erik is happy to oblige.<br/><b>Chapter Three:</b> Mansion!fic. Charles shows Erik the place where he used to dream about his future. Erik allows himself to dream about a future too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. take a leap

**Author's Note:**

> As per above, a random collection of ficlets during my fake!nano, written on days that I'm blocked on my WsiP. Each chapter stands on its own and can be read independently of the others. I'll be adding to the tags as I add content.
> 
> Chapter one is inspired by [this image](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m286o1RQxj1qec94wo1_500.jpg).

"We're up high," Erik says, and immediately feels foolish. Of course they're up high. They're on the roof of a skyscraper. He's not sure what else to say, though, suddenly awkward in a way he normally isn't around Charles. He shoves his hands in his pockets. He doesn't know why.

"We are," Charles says, ignoring the triteness of the statement. "I wanted us to be somewhere quiet."

Erik says nothing. He stares out at the water. It's not a particularly windy day, but so close to the water, with no building surrounding them to catch the wind, Erik feel like he might be blown away. He feels like he could fly over the buildings. He feels like he could fly out of this place. 

He stops himself from grabbing onto Charles' hand to make sure that he doesn't attempt the same thing. 

"What would you do," Charles asks, not looking at him, "if I kissed you?"

There are half a dozen answers that Erik could give, that he _should_ give. Charles is the son of a wealthy politician, the poster boy for the new face of the mutant rights movement, the kind of movement that wants equal rights, sure, but not too quickly. Wouldn't want to upset anyone. Charles needs to stay clean and polished and above the board. Charles is casually arrogant and frustratingly naive and getting involved with Charles will mean all sorts of rules about what sorts of parties he can go to and what sorts of opinions he can have in public.

What Erik says is, "I think, if I jumped, I could fly."

Charles does look at him then, slowly. "What?" he asks.

"Between the wind and the metal of the buildings--I think I could pick out the right fields. I think I could fly above the city."

"What are you saying?" Charles asks. He sounds so tired, so confused, so desperate to understand, as if understanding Erik is the only thing that matters.

Come to think of it, it's not the first time Charles has sounded like that.

"I'm saying, don't jump without me," Erik says. And then he takes Charles by the hand and kisses him.


	2. taking the edge off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern, non-powered AU - It's been a long day and Charles wants a drink; Erik is happy to oblige.
> 
> (Inspired by [this photoset](http://pearlo.tumblr.com/post/34858223048/pearlo-hi-drunkyyyyyy-bringing-this-back).)

Erik agreed to go along to the bar because he could tell Charles needed it. There's always a peculiar set to Charles' jaw when he's had a hard day that he doesn't want to talk about, a certain color to the circles under his eyes. He's fidgety and tight and those days are the days that Erik doesn't even put up one of his token protests--it's late, he's tired, he doesn't want to see people, they both have to work tomorrow, wouldn't it be nice if they just stayed in?--he merely agrees and dons his coat and follows Charles out.

They end up at a bar near the university and it's not long before one of Charles' colleagues sees them and waves them over. Thankfully, it's someone Erik can stand--MacTaggert, who can carry on a conversation about things other than grading papers and the latest research in her field--and thankfully, her table is off in the corner, away from the general rowdiness of the bar area.

Charles finishes his second drink while Erik is still nursing his first and orders his third when Erik orders his second. The first drink loosens Charles up. The second relaxes him. The third, Erik's actually been looking forward to.

It's almost unnoticeable at first. Charles always gestures when he talks, and Erik thinks most people wouldn't notice that those gestures become gentle touches to Erik's hand, his arm. Then Charles starts to shift in the booth, angling himself closer as he has another sip of his drink. He watches Erik talk with a distant, sultry smile. He inches closer, leaves his hand on Erik's arm, his wrist, his knee, his thigh. He sits up against Erik, pressed right against his side, leaning against him to nod at something that MacTaggert is saying. He hooks his chin over Erik's shoulder, then turns his head and nuzzles Erik's ear. The nuzzling drifts downward, until Charles is all but kissing Erik's throat, his breath curling damp and hot in the small space between his mouth and the skin of Erik's neck. 

MacTaggert rolls her eyes with no small amount of affection and excuses herself to the restroom, taking her purse with her. She's not coming back, which Erik appreciates, almost as much as he appreciates the easy way Charles comes forward when Erik lays an encouraging hand at the small of his back. Charles climbs right onto Erik's lap, wrapping his arms around Erik's neck and leaning forward until their noses touch.

"Hi," Charles says. Erik can feel his heart racing with anticipation.

"Hey," Erik says, and Charles leans forward and kisses him.

The kisses are warm and open and wet. Not sloppy, exactly, but casual. Almost lazy. He moves to Erik's neck, kissing at the same meandering pace, sucking almost absently at the skin under Erik's ear. Erik can feel the low thrum of warmth spreading outward from his gut. He wants Charles. Of course he does. He always wants Charles. And it's obvious that Charles wants him. But there's no need to rush. There's an anticipation for things to come, but they're going to take their time getting there.

For the moment, Erik is going to lean back, pull Charles' warm, pliant body more firmly against his own, and enjoy the ride.


	3. open spaces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles shows Erik the place where he used to dream about his future. Erik allows himself to dream about a future too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vaguely inspired by [this photo](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m4iyo6EQ4E1rwirwao1_500.jpg). Takes place during the mansion training days. Thanks for **pearl_o** for her input ♥

Charles has scores of favorite places around the mansion. He points them out absently as he gives Erik the tour, a tour that's slower and more sedate than the one Raven is leading the others on. 

"The space beneath that staircase made quite the cozy reading nook when I was young," Charles says as they walk through the hall towards what was once the servant's quarters. "Cozy" is putting it lightly--it barely looks large enough for a small boy and a book. All of Charles' favorite places, come to think of it, are small and out of the way. Window seats blocked from view by heavy curtains, chairs in library alcoves all but blocked by bookshelves. With all the vastness of the house and grounds, young Charles seems to have preferred spaces where he could vanish into the scenery.

It seems odd. Erik knows Charles. Erik's been collecting bits of Charles from the moment they met, filing away mannerisms and expressions in the endless index of his mind. He does this with everyone he meets, analyzing them for weaknesses, but with Charles, it's had a different purpose. With Charles, Erik has been holding every nuance close, not for protection, but because he wants to.

Erik knows Charles, and the Charles he knows is larger than life. His Charles likes to be in the thick of things, likes to pull people and problems apart. Erik's Charles wants to see everything and know everything. There are quiet moments too, of course, evening chess games and back booths of pubs and conversations in the front seat of their government-issued sedan, but there have never been any _small_ moments. He has trouble picturing a Charles who would willingly confine himself to cramped spaces that disappear into the background. His Charles can be thoughtful, but he's never timid.

They make it up the twisting staircases and past rooms covered in dust and draped in sheets. Charles waves them all off with barely more than a look and a vague anecdote. It's obvious he's headed somewhere with a purpose. He opens the door to the attic, but instead of climbing the steps, he runs his fingers along the wall and then slides them into a crack. It's not a crack, though. After a tug from Charles, the wall swings outward, revealing a door. Charles turns to Erik, the same bright smile he brought out when they were on the trail of a new mutant, full of giddy joy.

"This," Charles says, "is my very favorite of all my hiding places."

_Hiding places_. Erik doesn't miss the phrasing. He follows Charles up the revealed staircase. It's cramped and narrow, like every other nook that Charles claimed as his own, and papered with scientific diagrams and pages from text books. Erik has to duck his head to keep from smacking it on the low ceiling, and before he can make a comment about Charles' affinity for small, dark places, Charles' hand closes around something old and rusted and solid iron. There's the sound of metal scraping against wood, the squeak of old metal pressed back into service, and then Erik has to close his eyes against the glare of sunlight pouring down the stairwell.

He follows Charles up the last few stairs and out onto a balcony. Not just a balcony, though--as Erik's eyes adjust to the light, he can finally see where Charles fits into this mausoleum.

The balcony stretches nearly all the way down this side of the house. There are some plants that are long dead, but it's not hard for Erik to imagine them in bloom. A wrought iron chair is pulled up to a small table and there are more chairs and a bench scattered throughout the space. The view is spectacular--Erik can nearly see all the way down to the road. It's beautiful and vast and Erik can suddenly picture Charles up here, reading and listening to records and looking out at the scenery and dreaming of science and nature and the future. Charles looking out at the world and wondering how he can change it.

"It's beautiful," Erik says, though the words can't fully express the thoughts running through his mind.

"It was mine," Charles says. "Inside, the house, all of that--that was theirs. Mother's and Kurt's and society parties and family standards. But out here--I was the only one who came up here. The only one who knew about it, at least until Raven. Out here, I didn't have to be...." He pauses and frowns. "Confined," he finally says.

Erik steps closer, though he doesn't know what to do once he's there. He wants to touch Charles, but he doesn't know how.

"I want the whole house to be theirs," Charles continues. "The children's, I mean. I want to overwrite what it was like back then. I want it to be loud and open and free. But I want to keep this, too."

To Erik, the house should be no different than the government barracks, a place to sleep and train until the time comes to confront Shaw. He knows this. Charles is starting to seep in, though. It was inevitable. Surrounding himself with Charles, spending so much time with him, learning all of his expressions and all of his quirks--he shouldn't be surprised that Charles' ideas are leaving kernels of optimism behind, something that might be the beginnings of hope. 

Charles wants a school, Charles wants a community, Charles wants a family filled with people like them. He wants to put it in this house, and maybe, in the moments when Erik's mind is quieter, in the dreamy seconds between consciousness and sleep, Erik can see it, too. A future without Shaw to dictate his movements. A future with a purpose other than revenge.

"You can," Erik says, and the words feel awkward, but he won't let himself be cowed by embarrassment, of all things. "Something for them, something for you." Except that's not right. Because Charles can be loud and open and free, certainly, but he doesn't need a sanctuary. He has somewhere for the quiet moments. He has--well.

He has some _one_ for the quiet moments.

"Something for them," he corrects, "and something for us."

Charles turns and stares at him. Erik's not sure what he sees, but Charles smiles, small but warm, and holds out his hand. Erik takes it. 

"Something for us," Charles repeats, and turns to stare out at the landscape, his hand warm and secure in Erik's own.


End file.
